Yesterday, I was hit in the chest with a bird.
It flew right into me. I guess it could have been a bat...I COULD have rabies...but I'm pretty sure it was a bird that was the size of a baseball, and FELT like a baseball being wailed into my chest. And if you know me, you know I hate birds. Needless to say, the new neighbors are now well aware that they live next to the town nutcase, but not for LONG...as they are also aware since I announced to them, "I am moving!" before I slammed the door. I had to lay in my bed with an ice pack fashioned out of a bag of frozen stir fry on my chest, comtemplating just HOW, exactly, this stuff happens to me. It hurts when I breathe. Oops...I left out the part where I screamed my head off. Probably for the best.
And today, I looked pretty at work. That's the word on the street.
I could tell an entire story about how I got asked out on a date but that will probably just make me want to smoke, move to Guam, or begin wearing a special outfit co-designed by Damian Detroit and myself which included ringed tube socks, fuzzy slippers, a leather jacket, and possibly a cowboy hat. Maybe I'm blowing the whole thing out of proportion but the fact that I wanted to say no but instead, danced around the subject, upsets me. I want to be firm but I don't want anyone's feelings to be hurt. I've been disappointed in the past when I've been rejected flat out without any consideration of my feelings...I'm just not good at coming up with a response that's considerate but honest on the spot. Instead, I come out sounded confused and goofy...very attractive, I'm sure. Bah. Dating is for the birds.
Stupid birds.
And don't forget to take a peek!
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